


Letters from Prison

by theunknownfate



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Accidental Voyeurism, Frottage, Kink Meme, M/M, Pen Pals, Possible Masturbation, Prison, Prompt Fill, Rating May Change, Rating will definitely go up towards the end, Shower Sex, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 18,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1457962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theunknownfate/pseuds/theunknownfate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walter gets arrested, but manages to hide enough of his costume that no one knows he's Rorschach. He's just one of many nobodies in jail and has no choice but to serve out his sentence. With nothing to do and no way to get information, he starts writing his retired partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dan walked along, uncertain and half-expecting an ambush at any moment. It seemed so farfetched and stupid. It had been years since he had heard from his former partner before he had gotten the letter. 

He made his way to the back of the warehouse. It was a seedy smelly place, empty in the bright light of day, but likely to be thick with lowlifes as soon as night fell. He looked around carefully, knowing how out of place he appeared in his scholarly sweater and tweed pants. The old fire barrel was kept too full of fish guts to catch fire anymore and Dan could smell it a block away. He took a deep breath and hurried over. 

He had to dig through the rot and refuse until he found the trench coat. It was tied into a bundle, but he decided he had to get away from the stink before he could unwrap it. A taxi nearly refused to take him with something that smelly until he promised to pay double. On the way home, he pulled out the letter and read it again. 

It was on plain prison stationary, which is why he had been so suspicious in the first place. The handwriting was deliberately blocky and smudged badly due to a cheap eraser and some reconsidered words. His first impulse was that it was a trick, but whoever had written it knew too much.

_Dear Daniel,_

_I am sorry to have to contact you this way, but circumstances have put me in a situation I can’t get out of. I have been arrested and charged with criminal trespassing. Suspect the property owner has something to hide, but judge agreed. I have 23 more days before I’ll be released and I have a favor to ask._

_I left some personal items at my dock mailbox before I was arrested. I would appreciate it if you would pick those up for me. Also, I do ask that you refrain from visiting until I am released. I did call you the night I was caught, but I had forgotten it was Mason night._

_Apologies to inconvenience you this way, Daniel, but there’s no one else I trust. Thank you._

_Sincerely,_

_ЯR_

Trespassing. Of all the stupid things to get caught for. Especially around here where a man could be stabbed 16 times and scream for help in the street until he bled to death without anyone raising an eyebrow. The owner of the building had to have some clout to bring down that kind of punishment on somebody. In this part of town, that probably meant mafia. 

The cabby pulled up to his door and true to his word, Dan handed over the extra cash and carried the bundle inside. He took it straight to the basement where the washing machine was and started untying the sleeves. Just as he had expected, there was the hat, with the mask, the journal, and the gloves stuck inside it. There was also the scarf, suit jacket, and waistcoat. Rorschach had known he wasn’t getting away if he had stashed the whole costume that way. How many cops had it been if he had opted to go to jail rather than fight them all? No way that was normal.

He also felt badly that Rorschach had actually called him for help and he hadn’t been there. It had been that part that convinced him it really was Rorschach. Who else would’ve known what night a week he usually visited Hollis? He removed the journal and started going through the pockets. Once they were empty he put everything else in the wash. At least when Rorschach got his stuff, it would be clean. 

The letter said twenty three days, and the postmark was six days ago. He was tempted to visit anyway, just to finally see what was under all the costume, but he doubted Rorschach would forgive that humiliation. He would just have to wait two more weeks or so and see him when he came for his stuff. Nothing to do until then, but wait. Unless Dan wrote him back.


	2. Chapter 2

Dan dug through a desk drawer until he found a postcard he had bought on a trip to the Appalachians to see a peregrine falcon migration. He had bought it for all the colors, a fiery gold sunset over a succession of mountains, each a softer shade of blue, but had had no one to send it to. Too pretty to throw away, but still a testimony to his loneliness, he was ridiculously happy to be sending it somewhere. 

He had no idea what greeting to use so he skipped that entirely.

_Glad to hear from you! It’s been awhile. I picked up your mail so don’t worry about that. Come on by as soon as you‘re out. We’ll have a party or something. Take care of yourself, man._

He signed it with a D that he couldn’t resist adding an extra line to. It wasn’t obviously a crescent. It looked like his pen had been iffy and he had made the line twice. Even Rorschach might not realize what it was. He probably would, though. Dan mailed it with a giddiness that made no sense and resigned himself to hear nothing back until the 30 day sentence was up. 

Which was what made him grin from ear to ear when another envelope with a prison logo showed up in his mail three days later. 

_Dear Daniel._

_Thank you for your concern and your help. You may have not considered that a postcard can be read by anyone who sees it and that mail has to go through several hands to reach the inmates. There is much speculation about the nature of our relationship now._

_That being said, I am now able to block a 3x5 section of the obscenities written on the wall, which I appreciate. I’ve never been to Tennessee. It is doubtful that I ever will. I know you were joking about a party. You’ve gone to enough trouble on my behalf, for which I am grateful._

_Sincerely,_  
  
And then there was just an erased smudge as if he had written his Rs and then changed his mind and then written something else and then erased that a few more times before he had given up. Was it possible that he had written his real name in there, Dan wondered, squinting to make out any letters. Maybe whatever alias he used when he was caught.

He would’ve laughed over the first part if he didn’t know what sort of speculation Rorschach meant. He hoped the fights hadn’t been too brutal and that Rorschach hadn’t been injured. He did smirk at the thought of Rorschach being unable to admit that the postcard was pretty which made the short bit about Tennessee a little heartbreaking. Rorschach had been interested enough to read the little blurb about the scene on the back. Had he ever been anywhere but back alleys and rooftops? Was he that much of a boogeyman that he would cease to exist outside of New York? What would he be if he wasn’t Rorschach? What would it take to find out?

Dan mulled that over for awhile and then started digging through some old photos for another location that Rorschach might never have seen either and sat down to write a more subtle invitation to cook whatever Rorschach wanted for his 'got out of jail' dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

The photo was from Vancouver Island in September. Dan had gone to see another migration, the owls and night hawks this time. He had taken a kayak across the lake and the leaves had just begun to turn, leaving their mirrored blurs of color in the lake. Dan had gotten a shot of that and the only thing spoiling the symmetry of the photo was the edge of the kayak at the bottom and Dan’s hand steadying himself while he took the picture. 

Rorschach had been unprepared for that. It was embarrassing to see the bare thumb curling around the edge, and it seemed unreal that he had touched that hand before. So long since that last handshake, and he found the photo shaking in his fingers. That picture had gone on the wall barely above the edge of his mattress where he could hide it with his pillow. Where he could roll to face the wall at night and see the picture and clutch his own hands together to keep them still and remember what it had felt like. 

He reread the letter in the morning, trying to pinpoint where this ache in his chest had come from. It wasn’t the gentle ribbing about what meal he missed most since he was in prison. Dan had no way of knowing this was the best and most frequently he had eaten in a long time. It wasn’t the failed attempt to be casual with well wishes. Dan had never been very stoic in the face of his emotions and apparently it was contagious. Rorschach tamped it down and was planning to write about not needing anything but his personal items back when his former mob enforcer cellmate returned from the infirmary and snatched the letter from him, rumpling it.

That fight got the cellmate back in the infirmary with larynx trauma and Rorschach in solitary with a split lip and bruised kidneys. They would both be pissing blood for a while. He had secreted the photo in his sock before the guards got there and though he didn’t reveal it by taking it out to look at it, feeling it against his skin and knowing that nothing would happen to it while he wasn’t there made the three days bearable. It gave him time to think and the memory that kept surfacing was the night the stake out had gone on forever and they had waited and waited in the companionable dark and silence until Nite Owl had finally dug out a Zero bar and broken it in half for them share. 

Rorschach hadn’t had a white chocolate candy bar before and it had made him thirsty, but he had forgotten about that when the drug deal started to go down. What he hadn’t forgotten was the sweetness and the stickiness and the crunch of half-hidden peanuts, just chewy enough to be satisfying. Once out again, he was pleased to learn that he would be rooming alone for the duration, and less so that no one was inclined to let him fetch his postcard from the old cell. 

They didn’t know who he was. Thought he was just some shady nobody poking his nose in empty buildings that should’ve been full of merchandise if the owners’ books were accurate. Which they weren’t. There was only one person in all of the world who knew he was. He barely even realized he was writing until he didn't know what else to say.   
_  
Daniel,_

_Twelve more days. Been in solitary for the last three. Former cellmate seems to be in the same pocket as the judge. Haven’t been here long enough to really miss anything, but I was curious about those Zero bars you used to have. I haven’t seen them for sale in a long time. May not make them anymore._

He knew his grammar was slipping, but he was tired and frustrated and more wary of interruption than ever. Daniel would notice and might think something was wrong. Something **was** wrong. He was in jail and helpless and forced to ask for help from someone who had turned away years ago. Why was Dan even bothering to pretend to be so friendly after so long? What did he stand to be gain but the chance to say 'I told you so'? Rorschach crumpled the letter up and sat with his head in his hands until he heard the mail cart being pushed around. Then he had to hurry to smooth the letter enough to cram it into an envelope and scribble the address before it got to him.


	4. Chapter 4

Five days later, he was resting off the nausea and sore muscles that came from realizing that someone had paid two other someones to overpower and molest him in the exercise yard. Things had ground to a halt at the overpowering part, but he was still repulsed and angry. One of his attackers had a smashed kneecap plus a concussion for his trouble, and the other was sporting some creative blunt force trauma, but Rorschach had pulled something in his back and broken his nose to do it. 

This was getting out of hand. Why would anyone go to this kind of trouble unless they knew his real identity? How could they? What had he stumbled onto that a mob boss would put this much effort into breaking him down? What did they think he knew? His story had been that he had been supposed to meet someone about some work, knowing that anyone meeting anyone in a warehouse after dark was up to no good and knowing that it was incriminating enough to be believable. 

It was infuriating to not be able to ask questions, to not be able to reveal any of his power, to bow his head and pretend to be one of these lowlifes. How did Daniel stand it? That thought had barely gotten through his head when he was tossed a manila envelope stamped APPROVED. It had already been opened of course, and he poured it out gingerly without touching anything. It was five candy bars, three Zeros, and two milk chocolate ones, several pages torn from a magazine, a current New Frontiersman, and a paperback of the Count of Monte Cristo. 

If he had been anyone else he could’ve laughed, but he lined up the candy bars neatly and started going through the papers. The magazine pages were a story about the Mossad tracking down an escaped Nazi in Latin America, details of investigations, revenge, and justice. Dan was trying to cheer him up. He huffed out a breath that would’ve been a laugh if he really had been someone else. There was a letter there too, written on a cheap diner napkin. 

_You make new friends wherever you go, don’t you? I’ve been trying to think of ways I can help you out without making anything worse. I figure if it just a matter of bail money, you would’ve said so. We’ll see. You were right about the Zeros being hard to find. I haven‘t had one in years and it took me a couple days to find a place that carried them. They still sell Coke in the old bottles too. I’ll show you once you’re out. Which isn’t too long now, after all. One more week. I know you. You can stand anything a week._

_Take care, man._

What did the ‘we’ll see’ mean? The thought of Dan showing him anything was a weird one. He made it sound like an outing. They had never fraternized out of costume when they were partners. Why would that change now? Did Dan think he could pal around with him while he was on patrol, as if no one would notice? He didn’t know him at all if that’s what was going through his mind. Maybe it just an attempt to make the note feel natural. And it did. Too natural. It made him wish they were still friends and with a row of chocolate and more to do in front of him than for the last three weeks, maybe they were, even if it was only in Dan’s retirement-addled brain. 

Be grateful, some part of him admitted. Who else did I have to call but him, or write to but him? The suit and journal and face could all be in the bottom of a trash barge by now otherwise. Who else would’ve gone to get it or bothered to contact him? Who else would’ve gone to the trouble to find his favorite newspaper and looked for two days for a specific kind of candy? No family or friends or even coworkers anymore. Except for one. 

He traded one of the candy bars to get the post card back and ate the rest while he read.


	5. Chapter 5

Rorschach’s next letter was delayed. Word had gotten around that he was tougher than he looked, and now that his mask was a collection of bruises and band-aids, that was saying something. The inmates were staying out of his way now, but he still had the guards to deal with. He had noticed them keeping an eye on him. It could’ve been just normal vigilance since he had sent three people to the infirmary and been in solitary in the first two weeks. They weren’t in any hurry to break those fights up though, and he caught eye contact flickering between them when he was around. Something was going to happen.

He had handed his letter over to the nameless inmate pushing the mail card and one of the guards had intercepted it. Rorschach hadn’t been concerned. Annoyed, but unruffled. He hadn’t written anything that could be misconstrued even if it was read aloud to the general population. This wasn’t grade school anymore. The guard didn’t try to open the envelope, but he did hold it up to the light. The guard made some crack about how useless it was to write letters when anyone blind enough to fuck him would need braille. When Rorschach just stared at him, he dropped the letter so that the old postal con had to bend down to get it. 

That had been the first volley. The letter had been tossed back to him with a rude reason for return scribbled on it. He put it into a new envelope and waited until the next day to hand it over again. A different guard took it this time, grinned at him, and walked off with it. The mail cart man looked at him sideways and Rorschach handed over the second copy he had made. That earned a smirk and Rorschach had no way of knowing if it made it out after that. Six days left. 

It took two days to get a reply, and that was also intercepted by a guard. Once he was out of sight and Rorschach still refusing to reveal any helpless rage, the mail cart man handed him another envelope. He was given a knowing jerk of the chin and the old man kept going. Rorschach tucked the letter away quickly, processing. You didn’t get a position like mail man without being in here long enough to prove yourself trustworthy. The old man had done something bad enough to be here that long, had probably been here longer than the guards had. 

It wasn’t an ally he wanted or would admit to, but it was perversely satisfying to have corrupt guards thwarted by their bullied charges, even if those were also felons. Little scraps of justice here and there were always welcome. He waited until lights out and read the letter in a square of light from the hallway. The first sentence kept him squinting at it for a long time. The second wasn’t any better. 

_Hey buddy,_

_It’s amazing how easy it is to fall into old habits. You are the first person I’ve written to in years and now I’m walking all the way across to check my mail everyday just in case I hear from you. Did you ever see that Charlie Brown cartoon where he says that he had lots of penpals, but none of them ever wrote back? That was me. At least you do write me back._

_You’re living proof of all that can go on right underneath someone’s nose, but some people don’t have your poker face. We’ll see._

_See you soon._  
  
Rorschach’s brow furrowed. What did that mean? What was Daniel up to? Why would he walk anywhere to get his mail when the address was taking it straight to his house? And another ‘we’ll see’. He wondered what he would have to do to get another phone call, but he couldn’t ask where anyone could hear. It was infuriating. 

There were still five days left.


	6. Chapter 6

No more letters came after that. Maybe Dan knew that the mail might not make it before he was released. But he had said he checked every day. Wouldn’t that make him write every day? Unless whatever he was up to had kept him away. Rorschach had spent the last few days wondering which old habits Dan had been talking about. 

The obvious one was crime-fighting, but that was dismissed as wishful thinking. Dan wouldn’t go against the Keene Act to save his own soul, why would he leap back into action now? All that talk about penpals, had he begun some letter writing campaign? For what? Was he building things again? Writing more bird studies for the university? Rorschach had no idea and it was maddening. 

He caught himself pacing and made himself sit. He finished the book and was offered a trade for it, but refused. It was a gift. The letters were folded up inside his shoe where he was constantly aware of them. Three days left, then two, still with no word from Dan. He was taken to sign some release papers and a check for any outstanding warrants was made. 

On his last day, the clothes he had been arrested in were returned. He was given bus fare and shown to the door. It was all very anti-climatic until he turned a corner and was hit square in the gut with a night stick. Another hit to the knee made him stagger and he was pushed up against the wall. There were three, a guard he recognized, the other two he didn’t. They weren’t trying to kill him, he realized, just being brutal enough to be sure he knew what he was dealing with. He was warned to stay away from the warehouse and they let him go. 

Rorschach memorized their faces while he got his breath back and started walking again. His knee hurt enough to make him limp, but he refused to slow down for it. He wasn’t sure how to approach Dan, but he couldn’t just walk up to his door like this. He went to his tenement, paid the landlady his bus money to buy some time on the rent, and went to get his back-up face. 

He didn’t put it on again until he got to the tunnel.It was a relief to have it on again. He didn’t want to go to the front door in case Dan was waiting with something ridiculous like a cake. It would be just like him, but there were lights on down at the Nest too. Rorschach crept into sight carefully. There was no sign of Dan. Things were dusty and unused, which gave him an unwelcome pang. 

The workbench lamp was on and under it were all his things. Coat, suit coat, hat, scarf, and gloves, all neatly laundered and folded. His flashlight, set up with a new pack of batteries. The grapnel gun, gleaming and smelling like fresh oil. The journal, miraculously untouched and the only thing that still stank of fish guts. There was still one thing missing, until he lifted the hat. 

There. He scooped up his first face and under it was a small birdwatchers notebook. The first thing written in it was an address. It was the building across the street from the warehouse he had been investigating. There was a handwritten receipt for a week’s rent in a room there. Dan had rented a one room apartment across the street from the warehouse for a week. 

Prickles of something electric sizzled to life at the base of his spine, tingling in his belly. He turned the page and found lists of times and license plate numbers, who came and went and at what hours. There were also field sketches of people, scribbled out like Dan was trying to identify birds. Nose shapes jotted down like beaks, hair styles like plumage, and other identifying markings of the people he had seen, accurate enough for Rorschach to recognize one of the thugs who had threatened him outside the jail. There were several days accounted for, scattered in with doodled pictures of actual birds. 

Old habits. Dan had been doing his surveillance for him. He felt a little lightheaded until he noticed that the next few pages had been torn out. He looked at the ragged edges for a moment and then walked around the desk to check the trash can. It was surprisingly full, as if Dan hadn’t cared enough to throw away what he had thrown away before he quit. But there on the top were some new, fresh pages, crumpled up tight. Rorschach didn’t have to smooth them out much to see how smudged with dried blood they were.


	7. Chapter 7

Rorschach carefully got dressed in full regalia and went upstairs. The lights were out and no one was there. He checked the top floor just to be sure. The house was empty. If it hadn’t been for the blood, Rorschach could’ve admitted to being a little relieved that he could take his things and leave without any confrontations. Maybe a little disappointed too. The knowledge that Dan had gotten involved with the same people who had been trying to hurt, violate, and kill him for the past month made it worrisome. 

The front door was locked, and the keys were gone from the hook under the coat rack. There was also an empty place where a coat could be missing. It was possible that Dan had just gone out for awhile. Rorschach resigned himself to wait. Not long, he told himself, but Dan had earned a face to face thank you after all, and after 30 days, another hour, maybe two, wouldn’t hurt. 

He ended up roaming the house quietly. Not much had changed since the last time he had been here. The furniture and the wall-hangings were still the same. It appeared Dan’s civilian life was as stagnant as his abandoned one. He checked the fridge and saw a bakery box on the bottom shelf. There was a cake in the house after all and a quick peek showed it to be frosted with white and drizzled with chocolate. Nothing fancy, and Rorschach was too on edge now to be touched or irritated by it. 

Finally, there was the scratch of tumblers in the lock and Rorschach froze out of sight. It was Dan that came in, shapeless and soft-looking in loose slacks and a big sweater. His arm was in a sling and when he turned into the light, Rorschach could see a butterfly bandage under his eye, surrounded by bruises.

“Daniel…” he said before he could stop himself and Dan jumped. His injured face split into a grin that must’ve hurt. 

“I didn’t think you’d be here until dark,” he said. “Thought I had some time to make you dinner.” he gestured at the grocery bags in his good hand, but Rorschach wasn’t looking away from the broken one.

“What happened?” he asked and Dan turned away to carry the bags to the kitchen. 

“If I had just stayed in the room the whole time, I don’t think they would’ve ever known I was there,” he said over his shoulder. “But like I told you, I couldn’t stand to not check the mail, so I went out every afternoon. Eventually, somebody noticed and came to see what I was up to.”

Rorschach was silent as a shadow lurking in the doorway. Dan shrugged lopsidedly, tried to make it look casual. 

“Broke my wrist. Roughed me up a little. Then the police showed up and the whole thing was somehow my fault until they found I really was a published birdwatcher who could afford lawyers and media attention. Then they looked kind of stupid, and I played the scandalized victim and raised a stink until they sent an ambulance for me.” Rorschach nodded as if he was picturing it. 

“Never intended to involve you this way,” he said. “Get you hurt.”

“I know,” Dan said cheerfully. He turned on the oven and started rummaging in a bag one-handed. “Was the information anything of use to you?”

“Yes,” Rorschach said faintly. The fact that Dan had been attacked just as he had was all he evidence he needed that something was wrong at the old building. And now he had trucks to trace and a delivery schedule to work with and the only possible disappointment was that the rest of the investigation he would have to do alone. Dan’s activity slowed to a halt as Rorschach’s hand crept around his broken one and gloved fingers curled around his.

Dan froze, uncertain what was happening. Rorschach’s grip on his broken hand was more gentle than the one around his forearm. His hat brim blocked the view of his face, not that that would’ve told Dan much. 

“You ok?” he asked, just so he wouldn’t have to stand there in silence. Rorschach’s head ducked until he could press his forehead against Dan’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry…” it was just a whisper, felt more than heard. “Haven’t had to worry about anyone but myself in awhile. Forgotten what it felt like.” 

“I’ve got the opposite problem,” Dan murmured back. “Hearing from you on a regular business is the first time I haven’t been worried about you since-” He didn’t even want to mention that he had quit and that was fine. Rorschach had spent too long trying not to think of it either. 

“Wouldn’t have been taken if you had been there,” he said. Part of him knew it would hurt Dan to hear that. The rest of him was just being honest. “Was careless. Paid for it.” He looked up quickly and the edge of the hat’s brim brushed the bruise. “You shouldn’t have had to.” 

“I was careless too,” Dan said. His smile was awkward and didn‘t make it to his eyes. “Maybe if you had been a better penpal, I wouldn’t have been so desperate to hear from you that I put myself at risk to check my mail.” He said it lightly, teasingly, but it didn’t keep the sting out. Rorschach hunched his shoulders unhappily. Touché. His grip must’ve tightened on the broken hand because Dan was pulling it away now and he didn’t have an acceptable reason to cling to it.


	8. Chapter 8

Dan was able to talk him into staying for dinner, but it wasn't the reunion he had hoped. Rorschach kept acting as if he was about to say something, but always caught himself before it happened. Dan had pan-fried some chicken and there was green beans and mashed potatoes, some brown-n-serve rolls, and a lumpy attempt at gravy that would've made Dan's mother roll her eyes, but it smelled good and Rorschach couldn't quite come up with a reason to leave before eating. It gave them something to do when the words sputtered out. 

It got awkward fast and Dan found himself fumbling for any kind of conversation. He tried to talk about the warehouse and the case since he figured that would be what was on Rorschach's mind anyway, but only got vague monosyllables back. Dan kept trying, asking about prison, what had happened to his knee, did he need anything now, oh look, cake! That was a last plea to get Rorschach to stay a little later and he could tell that it was almost not enough, but Rorschach visibly steeled himself and sat back down.

Dan tried not to take it personally. It had to have been hard for Rorschach to have been in prison, to have been forced to ask for help, to sit here across from him after so long, and try to chitchat. Rorschach kept answering as well as he was able through a throat that kept feeling tighter and tighter until he could hardly choke down the decadent chocolate cake that Dan had specially made for him. It just felt like too much and he was tempted to scuttle for the door. 

"i'm glad you're all right," Dan said before he could make some excuse. "I've been worried."

"Appreciate what you've done," he grated back. Another pause meant he had to swallow hard. "Daniel. Thank you."

"Anytime!" Dan said, then trailed off. "A-anything…" 

Anything except… Rorschach thought a little bitterly and took an oversize bite to keep from saying it out loud. The rest was eaten in silence until Dan offered a second piece and Rorschach shook his head. He got to his feet.

"Be careful," Dan said before he could reconsider. "If Rorschach shows up the same day you get released from prison, they might make a connection."

"Giving them too much credit," Rorschach scoffed, but made an acknowledging shrug. "Will be cautious. Until I'm sure." He turned to go and Dan's voice stopped him again.

"Let me know, ok?" Dan had to work to keep the plea out of his tone. "It's been good to hear from you regularly. If you have time. Or feel like it. Let me know."

Rorschach didn't move for a heartbeat or two, then tipped his hat's brim in a gesture that could've meant anything. The swirl of black across his face made Dan think of mirrored snakes coiling away from each other until they bled into something more like storm clouds. Then he was gone, and there was nothing to do but clean up the dishes one-handed, take a vicodin for his arm, and go to bed.


	9. Chapter 9

Things went back to normal after that. Dan assumed they were normal for Rorschach too. Days went by and he couldn't help but be depressed about it until he found an envelope without address or postage in with his other mail. At first he thought it was empty , but then realized that the envelope had been carefully unsealed and the letter written on the inside before it was folded back up again. Careful not to tear it, he settled down at the table to read.

They were back to initials, he saw. He felt his face split into a grin wide enough to be painful when he realized Rorschach had used the same not-quite-a-crescent D that he had used before. He had noticed, then.  
 _  
D,_

_Didn't thank you adequately before. Your help has made all the difference. Have recognized several prison guards going in and out, as well as a few inmates. My guess is they are manual labor and mules. Possibly dealers on the inside. Like the Colombian case we worked on years ago, remember?_

Dan did remember. Heroin dealers. The string of overdoses that had led them to it. He had been stabbed in the arm and had shoved the knife wielder off the catwalk. The fall hadn't been far enough to be fatal, but Dan had never forgotten the crunch of bones or the obscene language going high with fear and then higher with pain. He remembered.   
_  
Operation is bigger than that one. Am approaching carefully. Will let you know as the situation develops. Meanwhile, you should be alert too. Saw one of the enforcers watching you across the street. Didn't follow. May have recognized you from your incident. Be careful._

_R_

Dan didn't know which was more unsettling, that he hadn't noticed one of the people who had broken his arm on the street with him, or that Rorschach had been there too and he hadn't even known him. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. Without them, the letters blurred into blots, and he leaned over until his nose almost touched the paper. 

The handwriting was harder to make out here than the prison letters. It was more fluid, more relaxed maybe, which made sense if Rorschach had been trying to disguise his handwriting before. He was back in his element now. Dan grinned a little again, imagining it. Rorschach still hadn't left him any way to write back, but maybe he could leave a note in the mailbox before dark and check before the mail ran the next day to see if it had been taken. 

It was as good a plan as any, so he dug out some old stationary that he had bought on a whim and never used. Every page was printed with a feather or eggshell pattern. The one on top was the common loon, black barred with white, which Rorschach might appreciate. Maybe. 

_R,_

_Thanks for keeping me in the loop. I do remember that case and I'm glad you're watching your step. I have to say I'm still worried, but hearing from you helps. And when were you on the street with me that I didn't see you? Not that I would recognize you if I saw you without the face, but seriously, man. Goose bumps._

_Take care,_

_D_

He looked at it for a moment, then folded it up to wait for dark. He watched the news for awhile to see if there was any word on drug trafficking. There wasn't. Restless now, he paced around the house a little. He found himself back in the kitchen out of muscle memory and considered eating a piece of leftover cake. Finally, though he grabbed his coat and swept out. His excuse was to go buy a paper, see if it said anything about drug wars. He might have to buy a Frontiersman too, just for research. See if Rorschach had been right about it having the best information. He really just wanted to be out and moving. 

The street seemed full of people and even through he didn't know what to look for, he kept an eye out for anyone watching him.


	10. Chapter 10

The rest of the week passed slowly. The news seemed to lack any at all. It was all stupid, trivial human interest stories about dog shows, and solemn voices going on about historic buildings either saved or torn down, and worst of all, the bright brittle chatter about nothing at all. Dan had seldom hated anyone as much as the smiling, coiffed anchors going on and on as if there weren't corruption rampant and one lone idiot trying to fight it all by himself. It wasn't like anyone else was helping him, and that thought left Dan so depressed he had to leave. 

He walked all the way to Hollis' without any plan of where he was going. When he saw all the lights were out, he kept on walking. He walked until his feet hurt and then he sat down to watch the people go by for awhile. There were people out and about at every hour, but it was late enough that there was only a scattering. They were all on the move, either leaving early or dragging home late, and didn't pay much attention to him. The sun wouldn't be up for a few more hours, so he heaved a disgusted sigh and flagged a cab to take him home. 

When he came back in his front door, he almost didn't see it. If he hadn't leaned to turn on the light with the broken hand while locking that door with the other, he wouldn't have noticed it at all. A diner napkin was wadded up just inside, exactly like it had been hurriedly crammed under the door. It had been written on, and he had to refold it to make sense of the bled letters.   
_  
Have decided to play this carefully.  
Thanks to you, I know the delivery schedule.   
Have redirected a few shipments.   
The fallout should make its way to the warehouse soon and I'll be able to find out who is really in charge.   
Once the big players are known, can proceed from there._

__  
No initials, and obviously scribbled out in haste, it shook in Dan's hand for a second before he smoothed it out on the tabletop while he tried to think. Excitement and worry flared in equal parts, leaving him tingling and a little nauseous. The fear that something would happen to Rorschach because he tried to take on too much alone had always been in the back of his mind. Part of it was guilt at not being there. Entirely too much of it was the ache to actually be there.

He couldn't, he told himself. Of course he couldn't. The costume probably didn't even fit anymore. What was he supposed to do? Just show back up? Say, yeah, I was just kidding about upholding the law and having a normal life. I'm back now! Wanna play? No. It was ridiculous. It would be an insult to everything, including Rorschach, to try to pop back in. Because what? He missed it? He was afraid his ex-partner was going to be ex in every sense of the word? 

"How the hell am I supposed to sleep now?" he muttered, even though he was pretty sure he wouldn't have even if there hadn't been a note. He looked around the kitchen for anything to focus on and there were two spaghetti sauce jars, cleaned and upside down to dry in the window sill. He did that because his mother had. He always felt a pang throwing them away, even when he knew he wouldn't use them. They were still perfectly good, just needed something to fill themselves with and maybe the pang wasn't so much guilt as it was empathy. Empty and useless and entirely too breakable felt very familiar these days. He started to prop his elbow up and the pain in his wrist made him grimace. He had been too preoccupied to notice the slow build of pain in it from all the motion and the cold, damp, early morning. 

He should take a pill and go to bed. No sense writing now. He had no idea what he might say and he would have to double-check anything he did write before he said something misconstrued or out of line, like usual. One of the spaghetti jar labels was still curled in the trash and he scooped it up to flatten it out beside the napkin.

_God_ , he wrote on it, and it almost felt like a prayer. _Please be careful._

After that, he really couldn't think of anything. Leave it for tomorrow, he told himself. Sleep on it. You're too frazzled right now.

But in the morning when he came down, the napkin was still there and the label note was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

On the rooftops, watching the first light of sunrise over the gray teeth of the city, Rorschach considered his actions. He wondered if Dan was unnerved that he had been in the house. It's what he got for being careless, but perhaps Rorschach shouldn't have taken the note. Dan would never have known if he hadn't, but then, he would've left it to be taken, and Rorschach would've had to wait that much longer for a new one. He found himself too gratified to be scornful of how quickly Dan always responded. He had been that way when they were partners too, Rorschach remembered, eager to reciprocate every slightest concession and share just about everything. It wasn't often he asked for anything back, so the plea to be kept up to date had struck deeper than he knew.

He started writing, giving a brief account of the fate of four different shipments. He left out the parts about the drivers going missing as well. The train car they were sealed in would be in Pittsburgh before it was checked. By then, this would be over. He wrote about the view from his vantage point, how he could see people on phones pacing by windows. This was coming to a head. Someone was going to be held accountable for four truckloads of heroin disappearing. Someone was going to notice that two inmates were not showing up for headcount, and neither were two of the guards. Someone's hand was going to be forced. Maybe not tonight, but soon. 

He stood up and hurried to the brownstone before Dan woke to slide the note under his door. When he got there, there was an empty jar set outside. In another time, it could've been left for the milkman. A quick inspection showed there was writing on the side and bottom. He turned it upside down to see and the word WAKE was on the inside of the lid. ME UP NEXT were written backwards on the sides so that they lined up with the word TIME written on the very bottom. At that angle, the whole sentence was visible and he had to gulp hard to get himself moving before someone on the street saw him. 

He crammed the note under the door and hurried off with the jar. He didn't know why he took it, just that he didn't want anyone else seeing it. It was for him. When the city had woken up enough that he had to stash his identity by a dumpster, he tucked the jar away too. When he got it home, he could keep the other letters in it. It wasn't entirely impractical. Still, he grumbled at himself as he shouldered the sign and started to walk the streets again. He headed toward the news stand to see if there was any mention of the truck burned to the frame in an abandoned garage full of greasy old rags, or the one that was left in the reserved parking spot for the judge who had convicted him, or the one that had been placed in line at the junkyard's crusher. He didn't expect they would ever find the one at the bottom of the bay. His satisfaction didn't make it to his mask's surface, but he was sure that if his face had been on, it would've shown a fiendish smirk.

He turned the corner and had to duck back out of sight. Dan was there. Out and about at this hour? It explained the jar, he realized. Dan shouldn't have even known his first note was gone yet, but he was awake enough to be creating optical messages and out running errands. Rorschach took a breath and another look. Dan was waiting for his change. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept at all. Rorschach remembered his message. Was Dan really that worried about him? He refused to process any emotion about that. It didn't matter what kept Dan awake at night. Once he had made good use of that time, but now it was his own business. 

He stayed out of sight until Dan was gone and then went to buy his own paper. He kept himself busy for most of the morning and then slunk home. He slid the other letters from under his pillow and folded them carefully to fit in the jar. He pondered the word WAKE on the lid for a few moments before he sealed them up. Dan did need to wake up. Everyone did. He set the jar down before he could think about it anymore and curled up to grab a nap. An empty stomach and a busy mind was enough to keep anyone awake, but he had driven himself hard enough to be exhausted. Maybe that's what Dan needed too, but he dozed off before he could waste anymore time on it.


	12. Chapter 12

There was nothing in the news about drugs, smuggling rings, or corruption in the prisons. There was something about a fire that caught his attention, but it was only mentioned in passing. It was frustrating for Dan and he could imagine how furious it made Rorschach to have his work ignored or covered up. He had to imagine because days passed without word of any kind. He started going out again. He spent several hours a day just pacing the streets.

A week, then two, and then into the third without a note or a visit and Dan tortured himself with the memories of the mob victims they had found here and there. All his old imaginings came back of Rorschach dead in an alley, in the river, in the sewers, in a barrel, a dumpster, a trash compacter, a wood chipper, inside dogs starved for just that purpose. It made his stomach lurch and he sat down at a bus stop to catch his breath. He held his arm like it hurt when people looked at him. 

Just one more week until the cast came off, he reminded himself. Then probably a brace for awhile until they were sure it was healed. Then he could get back to- and then the thought trailed off because what was there really to get back to? Rorschach didn't need his help anymore, or anyone's. He would have to find something normal to do, like clean out the basement.

Dan hung his head and got back up. He almost hailed a cab before he remembered he didn't know where he wanted to go. He was restless and anxious and torn between lurking in his own house to wait for real news and stalking around outside just to keep himself from going crazy. 

He needed a project. The surveillance had lit the fires and gotten him moving and now he was still ready to go, but without any coordinates. He could build something, he thought. He could go putter in the basement. Nothing serious, of course, not until his arm was healed, but he could tinker and maybe by the time his wrist was back in action, he would have eliminated enough bad ideas to have a start on a good one. That was encouraging, so he went on his way in better spirits. 

The Nest was under an inch or more of dust, cleaning with one hand gave him the opportunity to inventory all the unfinished projects he had put away. It took most of the day. Once he got an area clean enough to actually start, he was too filthy to use it. He was also tired and hungry. He looked at the boxes of prospective projects and reined in his impatience. He wasn't going to be able to do much with the cast on anyway. Shower, dinner, and then come down and set up a project. Maybe make a list of anything extra he might need. Just enough to have something to look forward to when he got up tomorrow. 

There was a letter under his door when he came back up which derailed all his plans. It was a page torn from the journal he had given Rorschach and the words were an excited scribble across it. 

_Saw the warden and the judge there. Much farther reaching than suspected. Tempted to move now, but will be more satisfying to expose and ruin them than it would be just leave them handcuffed for the rats and roaches to find before the police do. Don't like waiting. Haven't had to in a long time until this began._

Dan remembered Rorschach's impatience almost fondly. It had brought out some of his better strategies in a pinch just to give his hotheaded partner an option to charging straight in. Rorschach was probably referring to the wait in prison, but Dan couldn't help but wonder if he ever missed having Dan as his brakes. Probably not. Dan looked at the letter again and moved his thumb to see the last line.There, scrawled out like an afterthought. 

_Am being careful._

Right. Dan almost laughed. Still, if Rorschach was holding back at all with the temptation of drug dealers, a corrupt judge, and a dirty prison warden in easy reach, he really was showing restraint. What would the best way to blow the whole thing too wide open to cover up be? Dan tapped his chin with the pen while he thought about it. When the idea came, he almost dropped the pen. 

_Have some equipment you might be able to make use of._ he wrote. He hesitated, almost scribbled it out, then decided Rorschach wouldn't take it as a double entendre even if he noticed. _May be useful. May not be._


	13. Chapter 13

The letter was never taken. No replies came either. Dan kept watching the news, but saw nothing about the prisons or drugs or Rorschach. Was he dead? Caught? If the police had Rorschach it would be all over the news. Unless he managed to shed the costume again. He could be back in jail. If so, why hadn't he written? Or called. 

He could be dead. If it had been the mob or dealers who had caught him, he would be. Dan was sick imagining it. What could he do? His arm was still in a cast. They already knew him by sight. He had no idea where to look.

He ended up putting the letter in an old notepad and kept writing in that. He left it open on the table every night, but more days passed without a word.

Finally there was something in the paper. A suicide. A judge. Was it the same judge that Rorschach had been after? Had the threat of being exposed sent him to the sleeping pills? Dan went through that whole week's old papers for the obituaries, but again, nothing until the next day, where there was a small article about a warden who died in a car crash. Was is the same warden? Was it a coincidence? More chillingly, was Rorschach killing these people?

He had no one to ask, so he wrote it in the book, still leaving it out each night. It was pathetic, especially if Rorschach was really dead. There wasn't a date for the car crash. It could've happened before the suicide. The warden's death could've ruined things enough to panic the judge. And there was always the chance that it had nothing to do with the case, was just all coincidence. 

That night, he had disjointed dreams of being in Archie, cruising the river bottom in the dark, looking for a faceless body suspended in the black water, drifting gently while a hat floated over it. He woke up with a headache and feeling queasy. He wondered if he should mention it to the doctor when he when in to get the cast off. That was today, wasn't it? He checked the calendar and flopped down to squint at what the last line he had written. 

_I hope you're all right_ it said, but underneath that was scrawled something else and he had to refocus. 

_Fine._ it said. _Done. Covered up, but doesn't matter who knows as long as it's finished. Grateful for help, Daniel. Would not have been possible without it._

Dan doubted that. Rorschach would've found a way eventually, but it still warmed him to see it. He started writing how glad he was that it had worked out, that Rorschach was in fact alive and well. When he realized he was gushing, he ended with thanks for letting him know again, but it sounded so final. Rorschach might take that to mean no more correspondence was needed. He hurried to add that he had been wracking his mind for what to do if he didn't hear back before much longer. He left the pen in the book to mark the spot and went to shave for the trip to the doctor. His headache was gone.

It was bliss to have the cast off and he celebrated by having a late breakfast at a pancake house. The new brace was much lighter and cooler. On the way home, he picked up a newspaper and some fresh bread he caught whiff of passing a bakery. You never knew, he might have company, and they could have sandwiches. When he got to the kitchen, the book was open and a new entry was written. He was both thrilled and aghast. Had Rorschach been nearby, waiting for him to leave?

_Would have thought of something_ , it said. _Always did when we were partners_. In smaller letters underneath, where he could imagine Rorschach's voice dropping almost self-consciously, if that was even possible, it said _Miss those days._

The last three words kept Dan staring at the page for a long time. He missed those days too. Always had, but it hadn't throbbed in his chest and tightened his throat until recently. There was only one more line left on that page, so he picked up the pen. 

_I still dream about them_ he wrote. It was true, but he had to stop himself from scribbling it out. That would be as good as an admission of guilt of some kind. There was shame in what he was feeling, but he wasn't sure over what. Now that the cast was off, he could finally take a full shower, so he headed back upstairs, almost expecting someone to be around every corner on the way.


	14. Chapter 14

Dan couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned, counted sheep, made mental lists, recited the multiplication tables, anything he could think of as the night ticked relentlessly on. He kicked the blankets off when they got too hot, and pulled the sheets up when he felt exposed without them. He decided to go downstairs and changed his mind halfway down. There was no point in going downstairs. Nothing to do down there but eat and see what was on tv at this hour. 

There was no point in going back up either. A shower would only wake him up worse and he had given up on sleep. He ended up sitting on a step halfway down. Story of my life, he thought glumly. He tried to cheer himself up remembering the words to the Halfway Down the Stairs by A. A. Milne, but it didn't help. An hour passed and he sat there listening to the click of the clock in the kitchen, the whirr of the refrigerator, and the distant sound of cars on the street. His mind had finally emptied, but he was in more of a stupor than asleep until a new sound snapped him alert. 

The basement door made only the faintest of sounds but as attuned as Dan was, he caught it and looked up. He strained for footsteps, but didn't hear anything until a thin bar of light crawled across the floor. HIs fridge had been opened. He saw a shadow pass it and heard the sound of the loaf of bread he had bought being opened. It had to be Rorschach.

Dan stood up carefully so the stairs wouldn't creak. He crept down without a sound and stopped outside the door. He could hear chewing and nose-breathing as Rorschach ate, pages turning, and then for a long time, only silence. He remembered how long he had stared at the last entry. Was Rorschach doing the same, staring at a few written words that sucked all the air out his lungs? Was it too much to expect?

He should go in. Say something. Say anything. Try to mend this terrible gap between them somehow, since they were both so forlorn on either side. As soon as he made a sound though, Rorschach would be gone. Dan was wracking his mind for what to do or say when a hard exhale got his attention. He heard unsteady breathing, then another exhale that trailed into something more plaintive. It raised the hair on Dan's arms. He strained even harder to hear what was happening. Rorschach couldn't be crying, but the sound came again and then again. 

Dan knew how pathetic this was, standing motionless in the dark listening to someone cry. He didn't want to make it worse. If he didn't move or speak, it might stop and go away. He didn't want that either. The whispered ghost of his name made him freeze. Did Rorschach know he was there? He peeked in but no one had been speaking to him. 

Rorschach's head was down on the book, one hand gripping the other page. His shoulders hitched and and his back clenched and Dan couldn't force a word out. He had no idea what to say and was deeply ashamed at how easy it would be duck back around the door and pretend he hadn't seen this. He noticed one glove on the table and only then realized where Rorschach's other hand was, what the sounds and movements actually were. Shock blindsided the panic and he gaped until the next moan sent him back out of sight, trying not to wheeze. 

_Holy shit!_ was the only clear thought he had. No way he could interrupt now. Crying would've been awkward, but this was whole worlds of face-burning discomfort. But he couldn't help but keep listening until he heard a hiss, a gasp, and hushed, shuddering whimper. He listened to the rough breathing calm, feeling a disturbing ache deep and low keeping time with it. He heard a sniff, and the shuffle of clothing. There was a final crinkle of the bread wrapper and another creak of the basement door. 

Dan waited until the silence stretched and then ventured into the dark kitchen. There was no sign anyone had been there, except that the loaf of bread was a third gone. Rorschach hadn't used the twist tie, just tucked the wrapper under the loaf to close it. Dan sat in the chair. It was still warm. He reached over to open the fridge an inch, which turned out to be enough light to see by. One page in the book was crumpled from Rorschach's grip. The other side had his reply, in uncharacteristically shaky writing. 

_Dream of you, too._


	15. Chapter 15

Dan's first wild impulse was to chase after. Rorschach was probably still walking a little funny and hadn't gotten far. He wouldn't be in much state for conversation though, and embarrassing him never paid off. Dan made himself stay in the chair and savor the warmth that was fast melting into his own. The panic and mortification he had felt earlier was fast dissipating too. 

I should've said something, he thought. Should've done something. The question of what still loomed. What could he have done? Could he have snuck up behind Rorschach, put arms around him, and held him through it? Let that hand clutch him instead of the book? Would Rorschach have allowed it? Fought to get away? Was it at all possible that he would've turned into the embrace? He could've kissed Dan though the mask and Dan could've lifted him up on the table, and they could've ruined that book completely. They wouldn't need it anymore after all, because they would be… what?

Reality returned with a chill, and Dan shivered now. It was barely 3 am. He was hard enough to make the trip back upstairs uncomfortable and he hurried to the shower. He ran the water as hot as he could stand it, letting the steam fill up the empty spaces. It was easy to imagine it billowing in symmetrical patterns all around and that it wasn't his own hands on him. 

He wondered what dreams Rorschach had had. He remembered past nights of waking hot and throbbing from a dream of something Rorschach had done on patrol. It had been gratifying, just a guilty little pleasure, something probably everyone did, but didn't tell. He had enjoyed it and been careful not to mention it to his stoic partner. Learning that it had been mutual, though, flooded him with a thousand tactile recollections. Just remembering all the details of the gloves, worn here, scuffed there, how long it had taken to feel what the mask's texture was really like, and of God, all the details of the rasping voice was enough. 

He kept himself quiet as he came, as if Rorschach might still hear. He couldn't cry out any name, he realized afterwards, leaning against the tile. He didn't know Rorschach's real name. He dried off and put on pajamas before going back downstairs. It wasn't long until sunrise. He might as well get dressed completely, but he didn't bother. He went back to the chair, half hoping that Rorschach would be there again and half afraid that the book would be gone. Neither was, so he sat down and picked up the pen again. 

He didn't know what to write. How was he supposed to respond to what had happened? Should he mention what he had seen or pretend he hadn't and just be casual, change the subject like he had so many times when they were on patrol together and the conversation turned dangerous? Was cowardice or crazy the better choice? He didn't want to scare Rorschach off. He didn't want to be nervous and dance around the subject like he was still an awkward aero-nerd. Dan gave his head a shake and started jotting down whatever thoughts came out . 

It ended up saying _I can't believe you get in and out so easily without me knowing. I wish you would come talk to me instead of just writing and disappearing. As much as I love hearing from you so often after so long, I still miss seeing you too. If you have the time, you are more than welcome to stay and eat and talk and whatever else you feel like._ He stopped himself there. He could feel the ice thinning under him just looking at it and started scribbling it out. It took several passes to grind out all the words but three. He kept swirling for awhile just to be sure Rorschach wouldn't be able to read them. That just left _talk to me_ alone in all the ink.


	16. Chapter 16

Rorschach couldn't read through the scribbles. The _talk to me_ glared out of the black. It felt like an order, demand for an explanation, which was unlike Dan. So were the scribbles. Rorschach didn't know what Dan could say that he would take back so emphatically. What accusation lurked under there? He tried to ignore the sinking tingle of fear. Fear of what? He tried to pretend he didn't know, but the fearful whisper was in his mind. _What if Dan knew?_

He couldn't. But. All Rorschach's internal alarms were going off. This was different. Something had changed. He remembered a speaker at school saying something about conquering fears, that worry was just a fear of the future, while guilt was fear of the past. Was that it? Guilt for what he had done, here in this very room, this very chair? 

That had been an anomaly too. The loneliness, longing, and grief had been there a long time, but this was the first time it had overwhelmed him like that. It had been the first time he was too tired to fight it. Definitely the first time he had defiled Daniel's house. 

He felt sick. He could hear his own harsh breathing. He could imagine words appearing out of the swirls like shapes from the blots, disgust and condemnations rising to the surface of the ink. He couldn't move, torn between running and the misery of knowing he deserved whatever was coming. 

"Hey," Dan said, making him jump. Dan walked to the fridge and offered him a Coke. When he didn't move, Dan took a drink. He moved to stand between Rorschach and the door. It might've been casual, he might not've even realized he was doing it, but Rorschach had to swallow hard. 

"I'm glad you're here," Dan said. There was wariness in his eyes. He was looking for something and Rorschach cringed in spite of himself. 

"You saw," he grated. He still halfway hoped Dan would look confused, that he had misread this whole situation. 

"Mm," Dan said. Rorschach stomach plunged again. He waited for it, braced whatever dignity he could scrape up to withstand it. Dan seemed to be waiting too. He took another swig and Rorschach could feel a tremor in his limbs. He locked his muscles to keep them still. 

"Say it," he growled. Dan had the nerve to tilt his head more. Now he looked puzzled. Rorschach gestured angrily at the book. "Couldn't leave it written. Say it."

"Oh," Dan shrugged. "Mushy stuff. How I've missed you, what the letters meant to me, how much I wished you stay and talk." He looked Rorschach in the face and his lack of shame cut to the bone. The silence stretched out again. "Your turn," Dan said after another moment. "Say something."

"Saw," Rorschach said. " _Knew_." 

"Have," Dan began. "You done that before?"

"No!" Rorschach spat, then faltered.

"Tell me," Dan said, so calmly that the impulse to punch outrage into him flared hot. When he still couldn't speak, Dan sighed.

"You're welcome to anything here," he said. "You know that. Welcome to eat anything, welcome to stay, sleep, shower, anything. You are welcome to anything I can give you." He locked eyes again and for the first time he wavered, licking his lip and taking a breath. "Even if it's that."

Rorschach felt himself start to shake. Dan was still waiting for him to say something and he couldn't. There wasn't a word for any of this. He backed up a step. Dan held up his hands in immediate surrender.

"Don't run from me." He sounded disappointed, but not surprised, which stung more than Rorschach was prepared for. "Here." Dan pushed the book to him. "Write me a note. I'll leave you to it." He walked back by Rorschach, brushing shoulders as he went. Rorschach heard him go up the stairs and the creak as he sat on the edge of the bed upstairs. Overwhelmed, Rorschach followed as far as the stairs, not knowing what he could possibly say to fix this, but the need to fix it, to have it over, had him near panic. 

He had to say something. What could he say? He hadn't been this distraught since childhood. The first day in prison had been close, knowing his journal, and face, and uniform were in danger. He had been able to ask for help then. There was no one he could go to with this. He paced between the kitchen and the stairs, until finally, he snatched up the book and made for the basement.


	17. Chapter 17

Back in his tenement, Rorschach sat on his bed, rereading all the past notes in the book. The earlier letters were in the jar. The photo and postcard were propped up against it so he could see them. He was shaking. What was he going to do now? Daniel deserved an answer. He couldn't just hide from him forever. He had to face it. Atone for it. Somehow make it right. The words kept coming back to him. 

_You're welcome to everything here_ , Dan had said. _Even that_. He couldn't have meant it, but of all the things in Dan's voice, there hadn't been a lie. Rorschach hid his face in his hands and forced himself to take deep breaths. He tried to imagine it, just to be able to tell himself that he couldn't. And it wasn't easy. 

_Welcome to everything. Even that._ He tried to picture it, going up through the basement, not stopping in the kitchen this time. Making his way up the stairs to the bedroom, and Dan there asleep. He had done that much before. He had never crossed the line, stopping at the edge of the rug. With permission though, he might dare to take that extra step, reach out and touch Dan. Knowing it was allowed, he could stroke over the skin. Nothing obscene, just Dan's shoulder or earlobe or that cleft below his bottom lip that was almost always in shadow. 

He tried to let his thoughts go farther. He didn't even know what to imagine about his own clothes. Even in a fantasy, it was hard to think of himself naked. Dan sometimes slept in pajamas, sometimes in only half. The heat of his skin through the soft cotton might be felt through gloves. He could stroke over the shoulder to the back and Dan could roll over to face him and there it sputtered to a halt again. If Dan was facing him, if they pressed close… Rorschach's mind rebelled and tried to refocus on something. 

Dan's hands. The broken wrist. Rorschach had broken enough of them to know how the pain changed the owner's expression, the sounds it made them make. He couldn't picture Dan's face contorting that way, had never heard him scream in frightened pain. He never wanted to. Anger welled until he remembered that it was his own fault that Dan had been hurt that way. The shame came back. 

Dan's wrist was almost better, he reminded himself. It had been in a light brace earlier, not the cast. If Dan reached for him with it, he could hold it. Maybe touch his mouth to it if Dan would let him. And Dan had said he would. That he would be welcome to do it, if he wanted to. 

But no. He couldn't. That wasn't what this was for. He made himself stare at the ceiling and then flipped back to the end of the letter. Talk to me it said and he had barely been able to force out a word. He saw Dan's disappointment again and shuddered. He had made a mess of this from every angle. 

Start at the beginning. Explain it. Begin, somehow. Any how.

_Noticed work in nest_ , he started. _Good to see. Even if it won't be like it was, it's good to know that what it used to be isn't completely gone. I miss it. Miss you. Never had friends, or a brother, or much family until I met Nite Owl. Not much left of what I was before, but I still see signs of Nite Owl in you and_

He trailed off there, letting the ink bleed into the paper as the rest of the thought failed him. He took stock of himself, how painful his heartbeat had become, how tight his throat. He could barely remember the last time he cried, but the sensation was similar. Another deep breath and he began again.

_Could stand it when you quit. Could bear it. But having a little bit back and no more is harder._

That was more than he was comfortable writing and his stomach was already roiling at the thought of Dan reading it, but it still didn't explain why he had lost control of himself so disgracefully at the thought of Dan dreaming about him. The least he could do was apologize.

_I am sorry for my behavior in your house. Have also had dreams that are better not to be mentioned. Impractical. Best for us both if they stay dreams._

He couldn't think of anything else, so he shut the book. He wasn't brave enough to go straight back to Dan's with it, but imagined what Dan would think when he found Rorschach and the book both gone. He paced until his stomach settled and headed out again.


	18. Chapter 18

He had lost track of what time it was. The sun was bright and high and he was on the street in full uniform. There weren't too many ways across town where no one could see him, so he got underground as quickly as possible, making his way to the subway entrance. He had patrolled all night and then gone to Dan's and all the tension over the book had left him too wracked to sleep. Now it was almost noon and he was feeling it. 

He had to get this done before he could rest. And whatever he dreamed, he hoped it would be forgivable. He went through the tunnel and into the nest. There was something set up in the worktable, tools and pieces arranged carefully. It made his stomach tighten, reminding him that if he hadn't slept, he hadn't eaten either. There were more boxes down there too, stacked neatly by the stairs. He didn't feel like checking them, so he went on up. 

Dan was at his table, eating. He looked up when the door opened and didn't seem surprised. He had even made an extra sandwich. It sat in front of the other chair with some corn chips and a napkin. Rorschach felt a rush of gratitude that bled out into misgiving. Dan had known he would be back, he was still welcome, but maybe not after Dan read the latest entry. Dan nodded him toward the other chair and Rorschach sat down. He hesitated, then slid the book over to Dan's side. Dan took it, but left it closed.

"For you," he said, indicating the sandwich. "Get a Coke if you want one. Help yourself."

"Shouldn't." Rorschach's voice didn't sound like himself. "May change your mind when you read it."

"Eat while I read then," Dan said with the sigh of someone who wasn't going to dignify that with an argument. He opened the book and found the place. Rorschach quelled the urge to bolt for the basement, balling his fists against his thighs. Eating wasn't even an option. He could hear his breath hissing through his face and tried to steady it. He saw Dan's forehead crinkle at what he was reading. Which part was it? This is the worst part, he told himself. The apprehension. The calm before the storm. When he throws me out or retreats back upstairs, the worst will be over. Whatever it will be, it won't be as bad as this. 

"What if," Dan said suddenly. He was still looking at the words, still looking thoughtful. Rorschach braced himself. "It wasn't impractical?" Jolted, Rorschach didn't know what he meant, and Dan must've realized it. He tapped the page. "You remember who you're talking to, right? The banker's boy who decided to crimefight in a costume? I know all about impractical dreams. But if you need it to be practical, it can be."

"Don't need anything," Rorschach said, but his voice still wasn't right. He gripped the edge of the table, preparing to stand. Dan waved him down again. 

"Everybody needs to eat," he said. "And sleep. Unless you're just especially wobbly today, you haven't done either. Just eat. And hear me out." Rorschach hesitated another second too long trying to be angry, and then there wasn't any graceful way out but to pick up the sandwich. Dan nodded. 

"All right," he said, taking a deep breath. "What part of this was supposed to make me change my mind? I've had those dreams. I wouldn't have pestered you to talk if just a little was enough for me either." Rorschach made a sound through his mouthful, unable to meet his eye and hoping the mask would hide it. "Do you remember the night I retired?" Rorschach could only nod. "We argued. You left before I could tell you the rest. There was more."

"Quit. Didn't need to hear anymore." 

"Quit being Nite Owl. I took up the mantle to honor it, but I didn't want what it meant to change. Above all else, Hollis believed in the law, and I wasn't going to use his name to break it. So, I would have to be someone else."

Rorschach was listening now, food forgotten. 

"So I retired. But I had hoped you could come with me. It wouldn't have been the same, but it might have been worth having."

"…Daniel…"

"I tried to find you a few times and was always too late. Just broken bones and the word 'NEVER' by the time I got there. I took the hint, hoping you'd come by eventually. But not a peep until that first letter. I still missed you, still wanted you with me. I would've done anything to get you back."


	19. Chapter 19

Rorschach sat frozen, reeling from the weight of the knowledge of time wasted. 

"You still want to be partners." His voice had lost all inflection. It could've been disbelief, amusement, or the very beginning of outrage. 

"I won't be like before," Dan said, already apologizing. "But-" Rorschach was up and moving before he even processed it. He paced the room, not knowing what to do with his hands. 

"Could've done it before," he heard himself snarl. "On your own. Didn't have to give up and rot."

"Not without you," Dan said slowly.

"Curled up and stagnated and-"

"You left me," Dan said, stopping both words and movement. "You never trusted me enough to give me anyway to find you and you disappeared. I waited. Years, I waited. You gave up on me before I even finished talking."

Silence fell. Rorschach felt dizzy. The thought that he had stewed and suffered and struggled on alone for no reason was bad enough. That it was his own fault was nigh crippling. He swayed from foot to foot, giving up on saying anything and just trying to breathe. Dan was waiting. A steeliness Rorschach remembered from years before was there. It had always been there and it had been waiting and his head spun enough to make him stagger against a counter. Dan was on his feet now, reaching for him.

"Daniel…" He should've glowered or shoved or anything that would've kept Dan back, but he felt hands on his forearms and the unsteadiness stopped. 

"Easy," Dan sighed. "Take a moment." Rorschach nodded, keeping his face turned away. "It might be too late after all," Dan went on, more to himself than Rorschach. "Once chance might've been all we had."

"No," Rorschach growled suddenly. He exhaled hard twice and then choked. He pressed forward and one of his his fists grabbed a handful of Dan's shirt, his other arm hooking over Dan's shoulder. Dan finished the hug, pulling him close. Rorschach didn't resist, but his body locked tight. He was so much leaner under all the layers than he should've been, like their separation had pared him down to the bone. Maybe it had. Or maybe it was too much to ask. 

"God," Dan breathed, squeezing him a little tighter. Rorschach said something like 'mrmph', but it was muffled in Dan's neck. He wasn't hugging so much as trying to bury inside and Dan let him, savoring every knot of knuckle and bone that grated against him. Even the smell was welcome, unwashed and smokey and murky. He burrowed back a little, digging his nose into the mask-covered ear. 

"Come with me," he whispered. Rorschach pulled back enough to look at him and Dan stepped away without letting go of him. 

"What are you doing?" Rorschach was whispering too, but he took the step to follow. 

"Something practical," Dan promised, daring to smile. "You'll see." 

Rorschach hadn't forgotten the layout of Dan's house, but was more intent on the arm still around him than where they were headed. It wasn't until he caught his own reflection in the mirror that he realized they were in the bathroom. Dan had already closed the door behind them and was turning on the water. 

"What?" Rorschach tried again.

"Clean is good," Dan said over the sound of the shower. "Healthy and practical. I'm betting I was the last one to wash your uniform and that was weeks ago." He turned back to Rorschach and had the nerve to tug at the belt of his coat. The sight of his face had snapped Rorschach partially back to himself.

"Can't," he said, backing up and hitting the sink. "Can't do this." Dan reached behind himself and turned the light off, plunging them both into darkness. 

"It's all right," he said, fumbling with the buttons now. "No one will see. You're shaky. Filthy. You'll feel better." His hands were busy and Rorschach left his layers loosening and falling away. His eyes were adjusting slowly, but there were no windows in the bathroom or the hallway outside, so the only light was a weak yellow gleam from under the door. It outlined their legs and when Dan bent forward to pluck his suspenders over his shoulders, it highlighted the edge of his hair and throat. He heard a sound that could've meant anything and some part of him was terrified that he was making it. Dan just purred and steered him toward the shower.


	20. Chapter 20

The water felt like jackhammers against his skull. It was dark and he was naked and it would've felt like a dream if it wasn't for the hands. They were on his shoulders and up and down his arms. They moved around to his back and deep muscle aches he hadn't been aware of throbbed under the hot water and roving fingers. A wall of something solid and warm moved closer, it brushed his chest and knees. Hands moved up over his throat and his own hands came up, half-addled to defend himself. They hit Dan's chest and he leaned into them to orient himself.

He couldn't see Dan move a step closer, but he could feel the change in temperature and how Dan's body deflected the pounding water into a gentler spray. His hands were in Rorschach's hair now, kneading and rubbing as if he was looking for injuries. It was an alien sensation but it felt good and cushioned his head against the drilling water. The water was hot, almost painfully so. Things were dissolving on his surface and deep inside him too. The fingers shouldn't be able to reach that far, but he could feel them on his skin and echoing phantom sensations much deeper. 

Hot water was going in sheets down his back and his legs. It was almost like that time he had been stabbed and it felt like the blood was scalding as it flowed out of him, like it would never stop and he had to run home, get home so he could hid his face and uniform so if he bled to death they would think it was Walter and not know that he was dead. That scar was under his ribs and if he had gone to Dan, like he should've gone to Dan, he would've known then and the last years wouldn't have been so empty and maybe this wouldn't be so unfamiliar and overwhelming. 

Dan's hands stroked down his back again, sending the sheets of water into ripples and splashes over him. The water was so hot. It was boiling him and the steam was caressing him and the hands were taking him apart. They stopped at his hips, splayed lower, teasingly, then slid back up to his throat, cupping his jaw. His eyes opened and while he still couldn't see, he was aware of larger, darker shape right in front of his own face. A puff of air, more alive, more seeking that just steam fluttered against his face. Dan was there, close enough to feel his breath and Rorschach gasped it in. It wasn't a kiss, but he still caught the taste.

The hands started down his chest, rubbing in circular motions, sloughing off layers he was sure he needed. He didn't have enough breath to protest. He was dimly aware of the way his sides were heaving to suck in the overheated air, but the hands were tracing over each rib. He felt a finger drag over the scar and another exhale, this time against his throat, as if finding it and realizing what it was hurt Dan too. If Dan had been there, it might never have happened. If only- and the thought was interrupted by the moan he made when the hands slid to his stomach. He hadn't realized how much heat and electricity had pooled there until the fingers sought it out and stirred it to life.

There were sounds now, almost lost in the roar of water and their labored breathing, helpless sounds, not grunts or whine or more moans, but a little of each. They kept time with the pounding in his veins and Dan finally pressed close enough to touch. Rorschach ached from the back of his knees all the way into his ribcage. He was relieved to not be able to see how ridiculously hard he was, but feeling Dan press against it made him attempt to back away. The wall was only an inch behind him and even in the heat, the tile was cool enough to arch his back away from it. It pressed him back against Dan, who closed the distance, pinning him between body and wall.

"Daniel…!" It wasn't his real voice. He had no idea where it came from, but hands were on his hips and thighs and there was the slow, careful drag of Dan's body against his that buckled his knees. He scrabbled for a handhold, clutching at Dan's back and shoulders. Another excruciating slide and his whole being was straining to grind back. Dan whispered something into his ear, pitched like a needful question. Rorschach felt it without making out any words. His toes were curling and his knees had gone liquid and it didn't matter what Dan was asking as long as it wasn't anything about stopping.


	21. Chapter 21

Dan's hands slid under Rorschach's thighs, scooping them up and spreading them wide to wedge even closer. Tile against his back, Dan's chest against his, and feet floating somewhere in the wet void, Rorschach strained to see, even as every move made his eyes flutter and roll. 

The weak yellow outline from under the door was weaker through the shower curtain, but he could see the line of a shoulder, water beading along it. He saw his own fingers dig into the flesh there, changing the drops to rivulets, sending them coursing around his nails. 

The impulse to press his mouth to it flared. He had never wanted to be kissed before and didn't recognize the stab of longing. Dan's lips were lost in the dark. That left his hands. Rorschach shifted to wrap his legs around Dan, squeezing a low, whining moan out of him. Rorschach locked fingers with one now-freed hand. He pressed his open mouth to the palm. 

The first touch of his tongue tore a cry from Dan. Frantic licking and mouthing was rewarded with fingers just as eager to get in. He sucked in hard, but didn't have long to enjoy it before all the things pooling inside ignited. It wasn't like before, pretending not to be heartbroken over a book of scribbles. This lit up the dark, burning out retinas, electrifying each hair, and turning all his blood to something bright and molten. 

Dan was moving before he recovered, setting him down. He was disoriented, not sure where his legs or arms were and not at all sure they would be able to hold him up. He felt melted and shattered and splashed up against Dan who was the only solid thing left in the world. But then he was being moved again, turned around to face the tiles. The water pelted him in the face and he slid to his forearms against the wall. He could feel Dan behind him, a touch on one hip and a grip on his shoulder and as shamefully sated as he already was, he still felt an eager thrill. Yes. That. Finally. He let his back relax and his legs spread wider.

Dan did step closer. The hand wrapped around his waist and he was ready. He thought he was. He might've been delirious or it could've been the exhaustion, the shock of too many revelations, the heat, or the giddiness of release, but whatever combination it really was, it pressed his arms and forehead to the wall and offered the rest of him up. He felt solid heat against the back of his legs and quivered. This was like the dreams and while he couldn't drag up any specifics at the moment, the ache and the need was very familiar. Then it changed again.

He was being eased back from the wall, against Dan's chest. The water slapped him in the face, then it drummed against his ribs and stomach. Dan was still stroking him, but it was gentler now, getting him clean. Then he pulled away and the water was turned off. Uncertainty began to bleed through the daze. 

The shower curtain was pulled back and the flow of colder air made him gasp. There was suddenly a towel, which might as well have been chilled sandpaper against his overheated skin. Dan gave him a light rub down, and then fastened it around his waist. Another towel tossed over his head gave his hair a light towel-off before Dan pulled the hem over his face to his nose. 

"There," he said. It was the first word he had said aloud since they stepped into the tub and it vibrated all the way to Rorschach's toes. Dan stepped out and turned the light back on without warning. Rorschach might've panicked if he hadn't been covered, but the sudden flare still made him wince. 

"This way," Dan said, leading him down the hall. They went past Dan's room to the next door, which was a storage room if Rorschach remembered right. It was clean now and there was a bed in the corner. He remembered the pile of boxes in the Nest. Dan had intended this much already. He froze and had to remember how to talk when Dan asked what was wrong.

"Don't want my own room," he managed after a few tries. It should've been dry, mocking, reminding Dan that he wasn't a child. He was afraid it sounded exactly like a child, an ungrateful one at that. 

"You can use mine if you want," Dan said, after a long and damning silence. He stepped away to his own door. Rorschach stood there for a miserable lifetime until his feet made the decision without him.


	22. Chapter 22

Dan had pulled his blinds against the sunlight and was turning down the blankets. Rorschach followed him in and stood there in a daze of uncertainty until Dan steered him toward the bed.

"Get some sleep," he said. "Get your head together and we'll eat something and I'll show you what I've been sitting on for the past few years." Rorschach wanted to argue, but he could feel himself shaking and was having trouble getting his voice to work anyway. He crawled into the bed, biting back a gasp at the feel of the clean sheets against his over-sensitized skin. Dan tucked him in and turned off the light. Rorschach heard his footsteps down the hall and then the stairs. After a moment or two, he heard the click of the basement door. 

Through his shell shock, Rorschach processed the sound of water in the pipes that probably meant the washing machine. Dan was likely washing his clothes. He shivered, aware all over again of how naked he was. He had a towel over his head and one around his waist and at least three blankets over him, but the memory of the shower still left him in a prickling stupor. The sound of the cabinets in the kitchen snapped him out of it some time later. 

How did this happen? That raw, heated feeling he was used to in the deepest pit of his stomach had boiled over somehow, had flooded every inch of his skin. Dan had seen it bubbling under his surface, and recognized it. He had dissolved it down with scalding water and then ignited it with friction and Rorschach had, well, he had allowed it, given in to it, and reveled in it. He had wrapped arms and legs around it, pressed his mouth to it, had sucked and sniveled shamelessly for more of it. Dan had held back. He hadn't. And now, even with the shame creeping belatedly in, he still wanted more. The surface had been scratched and the hereto unguessed at depths of his depravity yawned below. 

He could be out the window and blocks away in just a few minutes except for the nakedness. He could steal some of Dan's clothes, but just imagining anything of Dan's surrounding him, touching and engulfing him, made him jitter all over again. He really was exhausted. Dan had recognized that too. How was he supposed to sleep with everything that had just happened vibrating in his mind, while everything that might happen next whiplashed back and forth through all his nerve endings? He sat up, but it dislodged his towel, so he lay back down. 

Maybe it would be all right if it was completely dark again. If there wasn't blinding, searing light in razor thin stripes across the wall and a corner of the bed, highlighting all the sharp edges, exposing him. He rolled away from it and there on the nightstand was their book. When did Dan bring it up? He stared at it for awhile and then reached for it. His chewed ballpoint pen was still tucked between the pages. He took that too and turned it in his fingers until he pulled himself upright and the book into his lap. The towel hung over him, shielding his face and what he was writing from view. 

He was writing down every single dream he could remember having had about his partner, scribbling the words almost feverishly across the page. Every burning little detail that had lingered into his waking hours was jotted down, just to get it out of his head. When he was finally finished, he was shaking again and could barely read his own writing. That was almost a relief. He put the book on the pillow nearest the door and was finally able to let his eyes close. 

He didn't know how long he slept, but the smell of baking cornbread woke him up. His eyes opened blearily and the towel had ridden up enough for him to see that the lights from the window were softer and that his uniform was neatly arranged at the foot of the bed. There was also an extra set of feet down there, bare and crossed at the ankles on top of the blankets. Dan was beside him, and of course, he was reading the book. Rorschach held still, hoping Dan would think he was still asleep. It felt like forever until the kitchen timer pinged downstairs. Dan got up carefully, barely jostling the bed. 

Rorschach heard him pad back down the hall and waited until he heard the timer turned off to get up and dress as quickly as possible. He took the book and headed downstairs.


	23. Chapter 23

The kitchen smelled like chili and cornbread. Dan was setting out bowls and spoons.

"How you feeling?" he asked. Rorschach nodded. Dan cut the cornbread into squares and sat the chili pot on the table. When he turned around again, Rorschach stepped to hand him the book. He set it aside, then waved Rorschach towards a chair. They sat to eat. Rorschach was hungrier than he expected. Dan had set out some grated cheese and sour cream and he dressed up his chili with both, but Rorschach used the cornbread to shove the chili into the spoon and gobbled it down. Neither of them spoke.

This was where it would become painful, Rorschach knew. It was already awkward. Dan would have to say something. Even he couldn't let something like this pass without comment. 

"Come see what I made," Dan said when both bowls were empty. He took his to the sink on the way to the basement. Rorschach did the same and followed him down. 

He caught up to see Dan pulling out a new mask. He held it out for Rorschach to take. Rorschach wasn't sure his hands wouldn't shake. The new mask would cover all of Dan's face. It was flat black, nothing glossy or gleaming. It had goggles set in it, and even they were tinted a deep indigo. The surface was slick and cool. There was still something bird-like about it, but it was a different bird, something with sharper lines, like a falcon. Nite Hawk, he thought suddenly. 

Dan was shaking out the rest of the suit. It was hooded and the cape was more like a poncho, shrouding the whole figure to the knee. There were boots and a utility belt like before, but like the rest of it, it was all in dark colors, smokey almost-black and the midnight indigo color. It would be hard to fight in that shroud, Rorschach thought. It would be more concealing, but would get in the way of the arms. The cape had been hard to fight around too at first, which was another reason to have it draped back like wings. Then, he noticed the weapons. Whoever Dan would be under this mask would use more projectile weapons, fighting from a distance. He wasn't sure if he liked that. 

"Then there's this," Dan said, making him jump. Dan pointed out something hooked to his computer. "This was what I was going to offer you on the case. It works through phone lines. All you need is the number and you can trace all the communications to and from it. Thought it would help you, but maybe not. There's been so many advances since I built it that I'll probably have to reconfigure the whole thing." He shrugged, self-deprecating as always. "That's true for me too, really. Been a long time since I've been put to use too." He stopped talking and tilted his head at Rorschach. "What do you think?"

Rorschach struggled for words. His head wasn't spinning the way it had been, but he was aware of how close the edge was. He took a deep breath, then another. Dan's posture changed, not impatient, but prepared to wait. Rorschach was going to have to say something. He couldn't stagger with relief, couldn't sneer and turn away. He had his chance to do either of those years ago and had thrown it away. 

"Rorschach?" Dan finally prompted. 

"Not a desk job," Rorschach finally blurted out. It was all he could manage. He gestured weakly at the computer equipment. Dan blinked, then grinned. 

"That's why I made all the guns," he said. "I'm out of shape. My arm is just barely healed. I'm not going to be able to fist-fight for awhile. Until I'm back to full strength, I have to keep some distance. Besides, it always helps to start out with a little mystery anyway. None of my old reputation is going to carry over and it might be best if I'm not seen very much at first."

"A shadow in the dark," Rorschach whispered. "Something in the corner of the eye. Last thing they see." 

"Exactly," Dan said. Silence fell again. Rorschach hadn't realized he was clinging to the new mask until Dan reached to take it from him. He turned it to look into its face, then set it back on the table. "So," he said. "What's the verdict? Will you take me back?"

The room did tilt a little then. Rorschach kept his footing, but was aware of how harsh his breathing had gone. He couldn't make Dan wait for that answer. He'd already made him wait years. When his tongue still wouldn't unknot, he just nodded.


	24. Chapter 24

Dan's hug was fierce and relieved. Rorschach latched on and didn't let go. Dan shifted just enough to test, and when Rorschach still didn't release, leaned back into it. 

Rorschach was still breathing hard through his nose, mouth a tight line. He was dizzy again, his own relief spinning with desperation and something that felt a lot like fear. Fear of what? He wasn't sure, but if he hung on tight enough, it might not get him. He felt Dan's chin brush his temple and the hands on his back knead through the coat. 

"Feels like we should celebrate," Dan said. Rorschach wanted to say that that was ridiculous, that he only needed one thing and now that he had it, he couldn't even imagine anything else. He didn't want to talk about it, he just wanted the world to be right again. He felt a thumb swipe over his chin and flinched when it touched his mouth. It stroked his lip until he did look up and Dan was so close their noses bumped. Another slide of the thumb and then it was Dan's tongue he felt, tracing the damp line where his lips pressed together. 

Dan was careful, giving him every opportunity to pull away. Rorschach gave in with a shudder, opening for the kiss and catching even tighter fistfuls of Dan's shirt. He had yearned to be kissed upstairs in the shower and now he knew why. As strange as it was to have something warm and moving in his mouth, and as clumsy as he felt trying to return every motion, he couldn't stop. Even that thought faded when Dan's head tilted to the side, drawing him out and sucking him in. 

It wasn't enough. Dan was too tall. Rorschach couldn't reach as far as he wanted. He was too tangled to pull Dan down and hadn't realized that he had backed his partner (and Dan had been that, always) up against the work table until Dan stumbled. 

"Here," Dan gasped. "Here." Then he was pulling away and Rorschach scrabbled to hold him still. "It's ok," Dan promised, leaning back on the table, dragging Rorschach down over him. The angle was wrong again. Rorschach's feet were off the floor and his weight was on Dan's belly and he still couldn't bury himself in a kiss the way he wanted to. He had to pull himself onto the table, bracing a knee between Dan's thighs to arch over him. Dan's arms locked around him as soon as their mouths sealed together again. 

After all the turmoil of the past days, it was frighteningly easy to sink into it without any thought but the taste of Dan's mouth and the way his body hitched at every touch. He didn't even flinch when he felt Dan's hands fumbling with their clothes. It seemed a blissful eternity later that the sudden curl of fingers and press of heat let him know that they were skin to skin now. He pulled back to suck in a breath so deep it hurt. 

"All those dreams," Dan whispered. "This one was mine." His teeth scraped Rorschach's jaw and then his throat. 

"You saw what I wrote," Rorschach gasped. "You know what I-" And he couldn't say wanted, and just saying dreamed of was insufficient now, but it must not've mattered because he was already moving. Whatever had made him so mindless and clumsy wasn't satisfied yet. Under him, Dan pushed up to meet every grind. His hands holding them together, stroking and slicking both of them. His mouth hung open. Rorschach had to smother it under his own just to keep himself from drowning.

Rorschach's hands had been in Dan's hair but they stretched out now, grabbing up whatever was in reach to steady himself. He was being unravelled inch by inch and he had to hang on to something to focus and feel everything for the wonder it was. Everything inside him was winding into a white-hot coil and everything outside was wavering like a mirage. He wouldn't be able to stand it much longer, but the longer he could stand it, the longer it would last. Dan bucked, slamming their teeth together. He moaned and Rorschach gasped. 

With his head raised, Rorschach could see that one of his fists was knotted into the inky darkness of the new cape. The other was clutched over the new mask. Between them lay Dan's rapt face.They made fevered eye contact for another breathless lifetime before Rorschach's coil jerked tight and then released and he might have been screaming, but hands were tight around him and there wasn't far to fall.


	25. Chapter 25

Rorschach couldn't bring himself to pull away, even when it was time for patrol. They ended up huddled together, just whispering to each other about the other entries in the book and what they might find the strength to do later. They talked about the seats and the console in Archie, about the glass panels in the costume display case, about the kitchen table they had both sat at so many times. 

They talked about the time, years ago, that Dan had caught Rorschach asleep on his couch and how it would've been different if he had found a way to wake him up gently instead of retreating back upstairs. Dan mentioned the more recent night he had walked in on Rorschach in the kitchen and how that could've gone. They talked about the short trip upstairs, the choice of two bedrooms, and the way Rorschach wished the shower had ended. 

"That's where we're going next," Dan groaned into his neck. Rorschach didn't argue. They were both a mess, even if the thought of being taken against the wet tile surrounded by steam and hot water didn't make him squirm and clutch Dan closer. 

They whispered about dreams and imaginings from years past. That stakeout in the rain that they could've spent much differently, the whole night spent in Archie at the bottom of the river tending a dislocated knee and a badly wrenched back, the hideout in the old train car where they had nearly frozen when they had been snowed in and had to huddle together for warmth. It was amazing how many opportunities they had let slip by out of cowardice or the certainty of rejection. When they could stand to move apart, they made their way upstairs and this time, Dan was allowed to leave the bathroom light on as they peeled off their clothes and got into the shower. 

It was a relief not to have to confess to anything else or ask for what he wanted. He ducked back against the wall under the pounding water. Dan found something slippery, and was easing it over him, whispering about what it was for. Rorschach couldn't help but remember the day in prison where the two thugs had attacked him. They had said something about going in dry that hadn't made sense until now. His fingernails dug into the grout, but he was too warm and relaxed and safe to even shudder. This was not what that had been. Dan's mouth was on the back of his neck, one hand splayed over his belly, other fingers warm and slick.

A sharp turn and a brutal elbow backwards could crack Dan's ribs. A hard twist and his healed wrist could snap. It would double him over and another half turn would put him in easy grip to have his face slammed down on Rorschach's knee. It could be over that quickly, (it had been before) but he would still feel empty and tingling and as overwhelming and miraculous as it was to have his partner back at last, anything less than this might not be enough anymore. He couldn't pretend that he didn't want this. He told himself that that would be an even deeper compromise, compromising himself under a layer of self-deception, and it had to be more honest just to arch into both touches and forget everything else. 

He couldn't even remember the prison with Dan being so gentle. There was nothing left to be afraid of. He was able to squirm shamelessly into position and didn't even care who was making those needful sounds. He thought of the new suit, much like the old one, but materializing out of the darkness like one of his blots, a thing of shadows, and it wrung another shuddering wail out of him.

They didn't bother with towels. Dan hardly remembered to turn the water off when it got cold. They limped across the hall to fall dripping wet into the bed again. 

 

Dan woke up alone, which was disappointing until he sat up and saw the note balanced on the nightstand. He pulled it close to read without his glasses.

_Meet you tonight. Old parking place._

_.ЯR._

Dan remembered the roof top he had usually parked Archie. There had been a dream about that spot jotted down in their book, too, so he forgot all about waking up to an empty bed. He wrote _I'll be there._ on the note even though he doubted Rorschach would see it and hurried downstairs to fine tune his costume a little. He wasn't as ready as he would like to be, but he had waited long enough, and night came quickly in the city.


End file.
